


Fire in the Snow

by Pepeekeogirl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Game of Thrones spoilers, Gen, Lord of Light - Freeform, Other, Regret, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepeekeogirl/pseuds/Pepeekeogirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow asks himself if death is better than knowing his family is gone. Melisandre realizes the Lord of Light's plan while Olly watches from the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jon felt the cold blade enter his heart as Olly thrust it through him. The warmth of his blood surprised him; he could feel little rivers of it gush out as the boy retracted the blade. He didn't blame Olly, he couldn't blame anyone for what was happening to him. It was foolish to think that he, the Bastard of Lord Stark and Commander of the Night's Watch could have rid the Brother's in Black of their hatred for the Wildlings. 

There was regret, however, plenty of regret. Regret about Ygrette, about being a Snow and not a Stark. There was also immense sadness, grief that ate at him, that visited him nightly. 

He missed his family, and he mourned their deaths more often than he let on. He was strong for his men, but the truth was, sometimes he didn't think he could get out of the bed. He saw their faces now, hovering in the corners of his vision; Bran, Rob, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, and their father...his father, Neddard Stark. Perhaps dying wasn't so bad. He'd at least get to be with them. 

He contemplated this as his body sank into the snow, a large red stain blossoming in the whiteness around him. The front of his tunic felt strangely warm, and it competed with the cold that was creeping into his eyes and darkening his vision. The moon was rising above him, and he felt himself drifting. A woman's voice called out to him, then death itself, black and cold.

Melisandre found him in the snow, in blood stained snow, his eyes glazed and rigid, his life force long gone. She grabbed the torch that still burned nearby and grimaced at the sign reading traitor that stood proudly at his head. 

The Red Priestess knelt down and quickly closed Jon's eyes. She kissed his mouth slowly and smiled. This was the one, she was sure of it now. 

"My Lord of Light, you have a wry sense of humor." 

She whispered this statement softly and pushed the shaft of the torch deep into the snow to free her hands.

She took a knife from her tunic and started to cut away Jon's hair, beard and mustache. Once that was completed, she used the torch to burn the hair and said the words that needed saying. Then she scooped up a clump of blood laden snow and held it to the torch in her hand. A satisfied smile spread across her pale face, her bright red lips whispering ancient tongues.

She set to cutting away Jon's clothes until he lay rigid and naked and blue in the snow, his wounds swollen with coagulated blood, his face peaceful and cold.

"Lord of Fire, Lord of Light! I offer up my blood to you, for the soul of this boy. Forgive me for not listening to your words, for not seeing the signs."

She cut deep into her hand, and let the blood dribble onto the body below her. A trail of blood began at Jon's head and trailed down to his feet. Satisfied with the quantity of blood shed, Melisandre quickly tossed the torch down onto the Lord Commander and watched as a blanket of blue flame quickly encapsulated its subject like a bubble of fire. Curiously, the flame didn't seem to burn away Jon's flesh, instead tendrils of flame dance like faerie folk atop him, flickering and hot. Melisandre sank down into the snow, cradling her hand as her voice rose up into the night's sky, chanting words that were ancient and sacred.

As her voice rang out into the night, sharp and crisp as the snow, several men of the Night's Watch appeared from the shadows, their faces horrified by the apparent magic taking place before their eyes. 

Olly stood amongst them, his face blank as the witch continued her chanting, his hands still cradling the blade that had dealt the killing blow to his former master.

He watched silently as his brothers spilled out into the courtyard to witness the madness of the Red Witch. She was howling now, twisted, and no doubt, evil words, bloodstained hands raised towards the fire, as if in tribute. 

"It's the Lord Commander she's burning there...by the Gods! She's bloody murdered the Lord Commander!" A brother stepped forward and gestured towards the flames. Olly recognized the man as Finn, one of the brother's that supported Jon's decision to bring the Wildlings south of the Wall. He felt his hand tightening around the knife and realized that he would have liked to run it through the man's back.

A few brothers joined Finn, and they moved towards The Red Witch to stop her defilement of the Lord Commander's body. 

They approached her hesitantly, unsure of the magic she would unleash upon them. Their hands rested warily on the hilts of their swords, their footsteps slow and calculated. 

Melisandre herself appeared oblivious of their intent, and continued to chant into the night's sky, her eye hypnotized by the flames. Unbeknownst to her audience, she was waiting for the final sign, an indication that her Lord would do what was needed to continue down this path. 

The flames danced and flickered to the cadence of her voice. Finn and his men were a few feet from her now, their swords half unsheathed. Melisandre stopped chanting, and it was suddenly as quiet as a weir wood. A gasp escaped from Finn's lips as the blue flame suddenly burned dangerously high, illuminating the courtyard in eerie, smoky light. The fire itself was oddly silent. There was no crackling, popping, or furious fiery roar. There was only silence, say for the occasional shifting of his brother's feet and his own panicked breathing.

All eyes were now diverted away from the witch, watching as the fire died down. No one dared speak, as the apparent witchcraft worked its way into the Lord Commander's flesh. Instead the men's faces filled with fear, awe and horror as the body absorbed the flame that had baptized it. Soon, not a single flicker of flame remained, and all eyes were on the man that had burned, but was unmarked and whole. Who was naked and smudged with ash and soot. Whose eyes were no longer black as coal, but were wide and lavender and wise beyond words. All eyes were on Jon Snow.


	2. Davos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos watched the scene unfolding beneath him. The Red Witch was working her magic again, the same magic that had killed his King's daughter.

Davos watched the scene unfolding beneath him. The Red Witch was working her magic again, the same magic that had killed his King's daughter. The thought of Princess Shireen burning at the stake, alive no less, tore at his heart. It made him want to murder, to kill with an uncompromising lust for revenge. The Red Bitch, if he were to have his way, would burn just like the Princess had.

Now he watched as she used unholy fire magic to raise Jon Snow from the dead. He watched as the Brothers of the Night's Watch murmured in fear and uncertainty as their Lord Commander gathered himself from the dirty snow and stood, naked and soot covered. What was this magic? Was this truly the strong willed, stubborn bastard of Lord Stark? Davos contemplated this as he remained hidden in the shadows, watching as Jon stumbled forward, coughing. Once the coughing fit ceased, he composed himself and stood silently before his men. He did not shiver even though the cold was biting, and his eyes scanned the crowd of men as if he were frantically searching for something, or someone. 

Davos noted that the Lord Commander's eyes looked different. First off, as dark as it was, even with the torches, he shouldn't have been able to see the color of Jon's eyes. Yet he could, for they shone like the reflection of the moon in a lake, or puddle. He felt slightly uncomfortable just looking at the boy with his ominous eyes and wondered if this was truly the Lord Commander, or simply some evil reincarnation of demon coaxed into this realm by the Red Witch. 

Davos watched as Jon looked down at his hands, turning them over as if he were searching for something. He watched as Melisandre removed her cloak and wrapped him in it. She was speaking to him, her voice so low that Davos' couldn't make out what she was saying. A tall red headed Brother, sword drawn, stepped back, allowing the witch to assist the Lord Commander in his walk across the yard, towards his quarters. The men watched silently, and uneasily as the witch and their former murdered leader struggled through the mud, snow and slush. No one offered them assistance. Instead, some had drawn their swords, while others moved aside to let them pass. The Lord Commander and the Witch were half way across the yard when he suddenly stopped, and looked past two Brothers, focusing on the cowering blond boy gripping an iron blade crusted with blood. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and craggy like old smoke. 

"Olly, I forgive you."

There was silence as Olly and the Lord Commander stood staring at each other; Jon looking somewhat weary, and Olly looking confused and terrified. Melisandre urged Jon forward, and the two made their way up the wooden plank steps towards his quarters. The heavy wood door opened and the men of the Night's Watched as they disappeared from view.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Davos returned to his quarters once the yard had emptied of the Night's Watch. He poured himself a warm, spiced beer and sat quietly near the hearth, occasionally stretching his hand out to enjoy its warmth. His face was pinch, his eyes narrowing as he gazed into the flame. A bowl of half eaten venison with gravy sat on the wood table to his right, along with his broad sword. After a few draws of the beer, Davos stood, a decision having been made. He grabbed his sword and headed to the Commander's quarters. 

The door was heavy and made of old oak, and as Davos set his fist against it, the echo caused by his knuckles sounded heavy and ancient. He waited patiently, his eyes wandering to the dim light spilling from beneath the bottom of the door. He heard foot steps, and stepped back as the door was pulled open slowly.

Melisandre stood before him, her dark red hair slightly backlit from the flame of the hearth. She wore a deep emerald green dress, which appeared wet and spoiled by snow and mud. Her eyes darted to Davos' face, then behind him as she made sure he was alone. 

"You are alone?" she asked the question as if relieved and nodded for him to enter the Lord Commander's quarters. 

"Yes," Davos stepped into the quarters and was instantly welcomed by a pungent, rotten smell, his eyes watering from its acridness. He brought his sleeve to his mouth and nose.

"What is that bloody smell?! It smells of death." He took in his surrounding and noted the well fed hearth, a wood framed bed complete with sleeping furs, a table littered with mugs and plates with scraps of meat, and Jon Snow standing aimlessly in the corner of the room, looking out of a small window, up at the moon. Melisandre spoke.

"The smell will go away soon enough. It is part of the process." She offered no other explanation and simply walked over to the dazed Lord Commander and began to wash him with a hot rag and a basin of steaming water. Davos watched curiously as she scrubbed the young man from his head, down to his feet. She rubbed his skin vigorously, her mouth curling as she murmured chants and prayers to the Lord of Light. Snow didn't flinch, showed no shame that a woman was scrubbing in areas that would make any man blush, and instead continued to stare out the window. 

"What's wrong with him?" Davos spoke as he approached the scene unfolding before him. He stopped a few feet away and waited as Melisandre helped Snow dress in sleeping garments. She turned the young man so that his back faced the moon lit window, his lavender colored eyes fixed on Davos'. He didn't speak, instead he nodded and with Melisandre's assistance, limped to his bed, where he lay down and instantly fell asleep.

"Let us speak quietly. He requires rest," Melisandre nodded to the table in the opposite corner of the room. They sat in silence for a while, both sipping on warm beer, both listening to the breathing of a man that had been dead not too long ago. Finally, Davos broke the silence.

"What have you done to him, Melisandre?" He sat his beer down, and absent mindedly fingered the hilt of his sword. Melisandre let out a low, slow laugh and took the last swig of her beer. "I haven't done anything to him, Onion Knight. The Lord of Light is responsible for this. It is by his will that Jon Snow has returned to his body, that he is able to walk amongst the living." Another span of silence followed their exchange, long enough for Davos to finish his warm beer. He knew better to ask her why the Lord of Light had chosen Jon Snow, or why the Lord of Light seemed to destroy so many people in its quest to become the One True God. It didn't matter anyway. He was here for another reason entirely.

"Why is my King dead?" Davos watched as Melisandre's face became briefly clouded with what appeared to be fear, regret...sadness? The typically loquacious witch was quiet, and when she finally responded, her voice was steady and low. 

"I do not know." Her answer was simple, and her face regained its familiar cold and unforgiving bearing. 

"And the Princess? Was the Lord of Light not satisfied by her innocence?" Davos fingered a dagger that rested on his hip, his eyes darkening with a slow, yet steady anger. Melisandre met his eye, unwavering, uncompromising, unafraid. 

"Why are you here Davos? Because if you are here with the intention of killing me, that is impossible. You and I are duty bound, our fates are entwined. The Lord of Light needs you, needs us to work together. Commander Snow is essential, he is the key to everything that will be, and once was. The blood sacrificed before is nothing compared to his life. You must, no it is your duty as a man of honor, as the former conscience of King Stannis, to take Jon Snow from this place, to an ancient place over the sea. To Valeria."

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys for the comments and kudos on the previous chapter. I really appreciate your feedback. Let me know what you think of this new chapter. Sorry it took so long.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? This is my third time writing fanfic, so any suggestions are most welcomed! Working on chapter 2, so stay tuned.


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